


Unforgivable

by Anonymous



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: (like some srs in depth rimming), Face-Fucking, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Rimming, creative use of the imperius curse, cw: dubcon, multiple/forced orgasms, terrible dirty talk and probably some angst idk., toys (dildos)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 01:45:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11174433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Credence asks Mr Graves for what he needs. Mr Graves obliges.





	Unforgivable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writingramblr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/gifts).



> Inspired by the very lovely Soz.

 

Credence had never felt so confused in the entirety of his life. Mr. Graves had taken him in, of course. MACUSA had apologized, of course.

“Of course,” Mr Graves had said,  as though Credence hadn’t killed anyone, as though he wasn’t a literal embodiment of sin.

Mr. Graves, (the real Mr. Graves, his Mr. Graves, the one who had gently spoken to him so many months ago) said a good many things. He also especially said that Credence was not to mention sin again. The concept, Mr. Graves said, did not even exist in Wizarding Culture.

“You’re one of us, Credence. You don’t have to cling to those No-Maj ideas.” Mr. Graves had repeated this often. The last time he’d repeated this had been at breakfast. Ideas like sin, sinfulness of body, of soul, those didn't apply to Wizards. They were born of ignorance, those ideas, and Credence was not to entertain them any longer.

And yet… when it came down to it, why had Mr Graves looked so shocked when Credence had asked?

Credence wanted to. He was ready.

“You said that I should… that it was ok but… I just can't do it on my own. I don't know how to. Please help me.” Credence’s voice hung tremulously in the air between them.  

Mr. Graves sat before him, regal in the way he took up space. He was in his shirt sleeves, the suspenders sharp black lines against the white of his body.

Credence took a deep breath and began again.

“I read… in those books.... There’s a spell that would let you just… make me. You could do that.”

  
“Credence,” Mr Graves said, and there was something in his voice that Credence vaguely registered as discomfort. He licked his lips, as though his mouth was suddenly dry.

“Credence,” Mr Graves said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you know what you’re asking me to do?”

“You said it was nothing to be ashamed of,” Credence pressed on. “Please.”

“It’s immoral. It’s illegal.”

“If I ask you to… then it’s not really… it’s not wrong. It’s not something I don’t want to do. I trust you, Mr. Graves.”

Graves held Credence’s gaze for what seemed like eternity.

“After all that’s happened to you, Credence, you still trust me not to hurt you?” he asked softly. Credence nodded.  There was another beat. Mr Graves looked down at his wand, turning it over in his hands. Credence had always admired it, the clean straight lines, the darkness of the wood, the elegance of it. Then he stood, expression stern, as if with sudden resolve.

Later Credence would recall the feeling and wonder if this was how heaven felt like. Right now though, it was just sheer, utter bliss. His mind was blank, like an unmarked piece of paper, and the only emotion that registered was a sense of deep contentment.  He felt pliable, light, airy. And when he heard Mr Grave’s deep voice, it was as though it were far away, as though he could just hear the echoes across a field.

“Credence,” he said. “Undo your belt.” The command might once have given him pause, but now he obeyed it without thinking. He was glad to do it. Why not? And where there might once have been fear, embarrassment, anticipation, there was nothing but the warm contentment that had settled in his chest.

His fingers moved in a practiced motion and swiftly undid the metal clasp.

“Now, remove the belt. Set it aside.” Credence also did this and then resumed what he had been doing before, staring straight ahead, dreamily, contemplating nothing.

“Now remove your shoes and socks. It’s not always a requirement but let’s make this comfortable for you, shall we?” The disembodied voice of Mr Graves floated somewhere above him and he watched as though outside of his body as he bent to undo the laces of his shoes. He set the shoes aside, and then removed his socks, folding them and placing them neatly on top of his shoes.

“Remove your pants and underwear as well,” said the voice. Credence sighed dreamily. It felt as though it was speaking inside his own heart. The blurred edges of the room focused for a moment as he felt the soft silk of the chair cushion against his bare thighs.

It was perfect. He was content to stay here, rooted to this spot forever. The voice was not content.

“Credence,” said the voice. Sometimes there were slight wavers in the feeling, little blips of awareness as Mr. Graves approached him.  

“Spread your thighs a little further apart.”  He did.

“Now normally, you'd find out for yourself. What you like, how fast, how tight,” Mr Graves’ voice washed over him in waves. “But you don't seem to want to.” Mr Graves paused for a moment.  Then he walked away. Credence felt something tickle lightly at the edge of his awareness, something like a plume of smoke.

Mr Graves returned after a bit, moving as he always did, with a sort of ethereal menace. A menacing grace.  A  graceful darkness.

“Hold out your hand, Credence.”

He did.

Mr Graves poured the contents of a little bottle over his palm, until it was coated in something vaguely slimy, vaguely lavender smelling.

“Rub it between your fingers. “ It was viscous, creamy, but quickly grew more fluid as the warmth from his hands broke it down.

“Now, I want you to--”  Credence felt a mild wave of anxiety. He turned to look at Mr. Graves, who was currently mopping his brow with his handkerchief.  

“I didn't think… I thought I'd be able to do this.” Credence looked for a moment at the way Graves held the elegant ebony wand, grip tight, in what Credence assumed was perfect form. Mr Graves drew a smooth semi-circle in the air and the calm settled over Credence like a weighted blanket.

Mr Graves began to pace back and forth, a restless tiger in too small a cage. He turned, leaned variously on the wall, the windowsill and on the back of the chair in which Credence sat.

Mr Graves was behind him. He felt that, even as the rest of his consciousness was blissfully empty of input. Credence felt the press of the back of someone’s arms against the back of his neck.  Mr. Graves was leaning almost bodily on the back of his chair, face pressed to Credence's cheek.

The sensation of five-o’clock shadow against his skin penetrated the haze of sweet calm.

“Whatever am I going to do with you, my boy?”  Mr Graves said. Credence's skin rose up in goosebumps, though the room was a pleasant temperature.

There was a long silence, punctuated only by the beating of Credence's heart. Strange. It seemed so loud and fast, as though his body felt something that just couldn't quite touch his mind.

“We'll start slow. You will tell me if it hurts.” The voice in his mind had a tinge of roughness to it as it asked but oh so persuasively, if he could wrap his slick fingers around his cock. He let his body be guided, feeling as though everything was moving through water.

 _Slower. Keep your grip tight._ He sighed softly, feeling his cock getting harder with each pass. A vein throbbed against the palm of his hand and something rumbled in his chest. _Don't muffle the sound._ Oh? Was that him? He hadn't realized he was so loud.

It asked him to reach between his now slick thighs and take his testicles in hand, roll them between his fingers ( _but gently)_ and brush his thumb over the velvety skin.

And beneath the haze Credence knew his face and body had grown hot, that he was panting, that the warm press against his jaw was Mr Graves face as he leaned over Credence's shoulder to make sure he was doing a good job.

The voice whispered that he was doing a good job.  A very good job. That he should get a reward. The words didn't register, bouncing off the wonderful blankness of his mind. There was more though, and he found himself pressing his slick hand just over the head of his cock. The sound of blood rushed in his ears; he threw his head back against the chair and then the walls of hazy whiteness crumbled.  

“Fuck,” Mr Graves muttered against his cheek, as Credence’s hips thrust forward involuntarily.  He’d never seen the way the fluid spurted forth, only woken up to damp thighs and sheets. But Mr. Graves had a firm hand holding the back of his neck, and even if he wanted to, Credence couldn’t tear his eyes away.  

His jaw fell open as he struggled to take in the flood of sensation. He wanted to be kissed and touched and held through the dizzying rush of goodness, wanted to be petted, wanted the hot feeling eased by cool, gentle hands. As he came down, the rush of white noise and calm returned, like an riptide dragging him under.  For a second he struggled against it; he thought he might be drowning, but a hand squeezed his shoulder and steadied him into sweet submission.

 _Good boy_ , hummed the voice in his head. _See? That wasn't so hard, was it?_ His body distantly protested, asked for rest, but he held himself straight. Unbidden, a thought came to mind.

 

_Our heads could do with filling, with some interesting stuff._

_For now they're bare and full of air, dead flies and bits of fluff._

 

He remembered Newt singing the verse softly as he scattered pumpkin seeds for some hungry griffin chicks. It seemed so fitting, because his head felt very much as though it were stuffed full of cotton. The rest of him felt so empty. That was why his fingers were dipping eagerly between his legs, below his sac. At least, he thought that was why. There was a bit of resistance, even though his whole body was relaxed.

 _Hold out your hand,_ the voice asked, and once again his palm was filled with the sweet-smelling gel.

This time as his finger pressed against his opening, it slid in easily, only a dim edge of pain in the far off distance. It was strange; that he did feel, even through the haze. Even as he pressed in as far as his index finger could go, he felt his own velvety insides clenching around him. The afterglow turned to warmth, turned to heat again. _You can take another, can't you Credence?_

He could. He thought he could at least. The muscle stretched a little more around his fingers, and the distant part of him that cared marveled at the idea of it.  At some point he'd slid down in the chair, nearly bent double so that he could more properly fuck himself. There was an ottoman placed perfectly so that he could rest his feet on it for leverage, never mind how it had mysteriously appeared.  If he could just bend a bit further, he might be able to see exactly how his fingers fit inside. For now he had to rely on touch.  Slurping sounds confirmed that at some point more slick had been added to the mess in his hands. When had that happened?

 _Show me,_ something whispered, and he dug his heels into the soft velvet of the ottoman. _Look at me._  Why hadn't he looked up before? Mr Graves was on the ottoman as well, legs spread enough so that Credence's feet barely had purchase on the seat on either side of Mr Graves’ knees.  

Credence drank in Mr Graves’ features, the heavy brows, the dark, penetrating eyes, the thin lips that now parted slightly as he licked them. _I think it's time for another, don't you?_  

Strange. Mr Graves’ lips didn't move, but he did make another gesture with his wand. The haze deepened, as did the thrust of his fingers. Pleasure pierced through the veil but dimly, like a ray of light through a fog.  He added another finger, and and at the shift of position he brushed against something inside of him, just a smooth little bump he might otherwise have ignored.  His cock still lay almost soft against his belly, but at the little spark of pleasure it twitched, growing harder as he rubbed against the spot more intensely.

The rushing in his ears began again, the growing pounding of his own heart. His body seemed so strange, like it belonged to someone else and Credence was just visiting, a butterfly flitting to a different flower.

 _There you go,_ said the voice as his hand moved on its own. It was almost more than Credence could do, balancing on the tips of his toes and stroking his cock.  And Mr Graves’ gaze never left Credence's face, except, occasionally, to look down at the mess Credence was making of his expensive furniture.

Credence couldn't have looked away if he'd wanted to.

The heat began to build inside him, steady, warm and aching, quite a different feeling from just touching himself on his own.  It was a lazy climb to arousal. The voice whispered to go at his own pace, to be gentle with his own body, because it was the only one he would ever have.  Credence knew he was moaning now, felt his cock twitch in his hands, pulsing in time to his strokes, to his heartbeat, to the squelch of his fingers to the soft sound of Mr Graves’ panting as he adjusted his trousers.

He was so close, the voice murmured. _So close._

And the feeling pierced like lightning through the veil.

 

*~*~

Percival Graves was dying. Or dead. He wasn't sure. He'd initially viewed this as an assignment. Of course he could take in Credence. His wife, his lovely wife, had died in the great war, and they'd had no children so his spacious apartment fairly ached for someone to fill it. And yet…

And yet Credence Barebone was no child. The boy was downtrodden, shy, and still flinched at an upraised hand, no matter how innocent. But sometimes, in low lights, when the boy thought no one was looking, when he felt safe, Percival caught him standing tall, with an expression of incredible determination and intelligence. Rather than weakness, the boy’s gentleness felt like strength. Man seemed like such a harsh word to apply  to someone who had survived so much without becoming cruel.

Percival tried to avoid him whenever possible, sneaking down hallways, keeping conversation to a minimum. But he couldn't miss the way Credence looked at him, so open, so trusting, even after all that had happened to him. Why hadn't he learned by now? And here he was again, asking Percival for the unthinkable, the unspeakable. Total control over a human being and he was _asking_ for it. It was incomprehensible. Percival felt a stirring of obligation. Credence was his responsibility; Percival had a sworn duty to make sure the boy knew how to live in the world and not just blindly place his faith in the first kind stranger.

That was how he found himself here now. Credence lay there limply on the chair before him, chest heaving as he struggled to regain his breath. He was beautifully flushed from the exertion, the creamy streaks of spend on his thighs and chest like icing on a cake. All it had taken to drive the boy over the edge was a simple brush of his finger tips against a milky thigh.

 

Percival breathed a heavy sigh.  If he stopped now, his original intent, to teach the boy to be cautious, would be for nothing. And yet he wanted more than ever to be kind, to hold Credence tightly and brush the sweat-slicked hair from his brow.  

There was a time and a place for gentleness, Percival thought.  He breathed deeply, ignoring the ache of his cock pressing against the inseam of his trousers. Then he pointed his wand at Credence again.

A moment passed before Credence sat up straight in the chair, the same dreamy expression on his face.

“Stay,” Percival said, and left the boy to sit in the mess.  

The bathroom, or rather, the master bathroom held more than one secret. The drawer under the sink held a charm that disguised its contents as ordinary hygiene items, but a hidden bottom revealed a plethora of blackmail-worthy curiosities, some confiscated, some purchased, and some lovingly handed down by past partners.  It was from here he’d pulled the bottle of lubricant, charmed so as to remain slick for hours. Other than this last visit, the drawer had remained closed for years.

The war had taken its toll on everyone.

He turned over the toys, admiring the skill and craft which had gone into their creation. Some were of clear glass, some of metal, and some made from a charmed resin that so resembled human skin and flesh that it sometimes made his partners uncomfortable.  One of the latter, he thought.  Glass or metal wouldn’t give nearly as much friction.  He chose one that he knew was molded after the shape of his own cock, but Credence needn’t know that. Never mind the shiver of desire he felt at the thought.  He admired the toy for a moment, turning it over in his hands. It gave slightly to the touch, but the core was solid, and he knew from personal experience that it felt as close to the real thing as magic and craft could create.

When he returned, Credence was exactly where he had left him.

“Stand up,” he said, and there was just the slightest pause before Credence obeyed. He might have worried the boy was fighting, but Credence still had that dazed expression. Unspelled, he was sure Credence would be sobbing by now, if not from pain, than at least from shame.

So he continued.

“There you go,” he said softly, as he led Credence over to the plush carpet by the hearth. “On your knees.”  Credence did as he was told, sitting on his heels and staring straight ahead.  Percival cast a temporary sticking charm on the toy, and adhered  it to the floor in front of him. It was only once he looked down to place that Percival realized his own hands were trembling. He stilled him as best  he could and then looked back up at Credence.

“I want you to fuck yourself on his until you come,” he said. Percival was stunned at the roughness of his own voice,  but he was more stunned at just how much he enjoyed the sight of Credence shuffling forward on his knees, positioning the cock at his entrance and sinking down onto it without so much as a whimper.

Percival sat on the rug not two feet away, eyes riveted at the sight of Credence’s body stretching and straining to accommodate the new width of the toy inside him.  How could the boy not know he was beautiful like this? Especially like this. Credence’s plush lips were just slightly parted, dark lashes pressed against cheeks still flushed from two previous orgasms. Percival could see how the strain was taking a toll on his body; his thighs were trembling with each downward press, slick dripping temptingly down the toy as the boy’s rim stretched tight and reddened around it.

The boy’s cock wanted so much to be hard, flopping pitifully with Credence's movements.  Percival’s mouth watered to taste it. He could just imagine swallowing it down, burying his nose against the coarse hair that trailed down the boy’s stomach. His own cock throbbed painfully and Graves finally decided he had to give himself some relief.

He would have to alter the boy's memory after this, he realized as he took his own cock in hand. He groaned aloud with the relief of it. Who was he kidding? He wasn't teaching anyone a lesson. He was just lying to himself, desperately using this boy to eat his own sick wants. No decent man would ever have agreed to this.

Credence was whimpering now, soft little grunts as he drove the toy as deep into his body as it could go. Percival couldn't resist timing his strokes to match, just so he could pretend that it was his cock Credence was riding, imagining just how hot, how slick how tight the boy would be for him.  

“Oh fuck,” he whispered. “Credence, you're so fucking good for me.”

“Mr. Graves,” came a voice. To his horror, he realized Credence was looking at him with clear eyes. “Please,” said Credence. “I want to be good, I just don't think I can…”   The boy was trembling all over, still dutifully riding the cock as he'd been commanded to do. Percival hadn't even felt the spell wane.

“Oh Merlin, Credence,” Percival breathed. He watched as Credence's legs gave out from under him, and then Credence just sat there, shaking and now painfully hard.

Oh it was wrong, so very wrong to take advantage of his ward’s desperation, the painful, obvious admiration the boy held for him. He'd put them both into a situation from which that could never return.

“Put your arms on my shoulders,” Percival said at last. Credence clutched at him as though he was a life raft, and together they gently lifted him off of the toy.

“Good boy,” he murmured into the curve of his neck. “I’ve got you.” Credence sighed, sinking into his arms. “I’m so sorry, Credence. You didn't deserve this.” He pulled Credence into a tighter embrace, fully realizing how it pressed the length of his cock against Credence's.

“Please,” Credence whimpered, writhing against him. “I need…”

“Do you want me to take care of you? ” Percival asked.  He slid one of his hands a little lower to cup at the soft swell of the boy's ass. Credence leaned in close to whisper in his ear.

“I want you fuck me.”

Percival tightened his grip, unsure if he wanted to kiss him desperately or lay him down and finish what Credence had started.

The look in Credence's dark eyes was unlike anything he'd ever seen. Not a hint of shyness or fear, just pure want.

“Crede-” he began, and then suddenly Credence’s lips were smashed against his and Percival lost every ounce of self control that he had.

In a matter of moments he had Credence on his back, his long legs tucked up over Percival’s shoulders. Credence grabbed onto his shirt front and pulled them both down into another kiss.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Credence whispered once they’d broken apart.  Percival wanted to say the same, but the words wouldn’t come. He focused on pressing kisses smooth expanse of Credence’s neck, not just to please, but also to keep himself from having to look Credence in the eye. This part needed concentration.

With trembling hands he reached down to steady himself as he pressed the head of his cock against the still-slick entrance.  Credence was so soft and open for him, barely resisting as he sheathed himself inch by treacherous inch. The boy’s breath hitched slightly when he bottomed out.

“Merlin,” Percival breathed. “I don’t think I can last.”  Credence merely held him tighter.

“It's ok,” said Credence.  “I don't need much more.”

It was pathetic. A few desperate thrusts and he was spilling inside the boy. Credence murmured words of encouragement against his cheek, holding him tenderly through the aftershocks.

He pulled out with a disgusting slurp, sitting back on his heels and watching the fluid leaking from the boy's abused hole. For a moment, he contemplated a cleaning spell, then reconsidered.

The poor boy was still so hard, his pretty cock a bright pink against the paleness of his stomach.   Surely he had enough energy left to take care of him?

“Mr Graves?”  Credence said. “You don't have to. We could just… stay like this a bit longer.” Credence reached out a hand, and Percival took it, pressing soft kisses against his palm and wrist.

“I promised I would take care of you.” Percival massaged the boy's soft cheeks, spreading them open to reveal the soft whorl of his hole. He pressed his thumb against it, rubbing gentle circles around it  but not quite breaching the entrance. Credence whimpered.

“Is it sore?” Percival asked, continuing his massage.

“Yes.” Credence couldn't quite meet his gaze, but it was clear he was distressed. Percival motioned for Credence to turn over, and the boy got onto his knees with all the grace of a newborn fawn.

“You don't have to hold yourself up. Just make sure you keep your ass in the air,” Percival said. He purposely kissed the spot right at the bottom of Credence's spine, just so the boy knew what he was getting into. Even though his face was turned away, Percival could see that the back of Credence's neck had turned bright red.

“Good boy,” he said, kneeling down so he could press another kiss against his rim. Credence squeaked, muffling the sound against his forearm.  Percival took the opportunity to kiss him there again, open-mouthed and with a generous amount of tongue. A trickle of semen dribbled down his taint, and he licked it up, the smell of lavender overwhelming him. He ran his tongue over the velvety skin of his sac , sucking just barely at the spot just behind them. Credence involuntarily thrust his hips forward, seeking desperately for friction against his dripping cock.

Percival returned his attention to Credence's hole, licking and sucking and thrusting his tongue in as deep as he dared. Credence shuddered and tried to hide his obvious moans in the crook of his arm, but in no way discouraged it.  He himself enjoy the filthiness of it, knowing full well that Credence was shaken with the realization that Graves was tasting his own release.

Eventually Credence reached a hand between his legs to try and ease the strain, but Percival stopped him.

“I told you I'd take care of you, Credence. Let me.” But instead of  touching Credence's cock, he merely coaxed Credence onto his side, revealing that his face was indeed very very red. Then he lay his head on his thigh and without any warning, took the boy into his mouth. Credence let out a choked howl, thrusting his hips deep enough to bring tears to Percival's eyes. Credence's hands found purchase in his hair, and Percival encouraged the boy to move, cupping his ass with large hands.

Encouraged and desperate, Credence began to move, shallow uneven thrusts at first, then deeper as he began to lose control.  “Oh God,” he moaned. “That's so good. Mr Graves, you feel so good.” Percival relaxed his throat as best he could, grateful that the boy was so weak. He slid a thick finger back inside of the boy on a particularly deep thrust and Credence came undone, shuddering and spurting thick cum down Percival's throat. He swallowed it greedily, and continued sucking until Credence was soft and oversensitive and begging him to stop.  Only then did he reluctantly let it slip from his mouth.  He sighed and summoned a pillow and blanket, and lay as close to the boy as he dared.

“Are you ok, Credence?”  Percival asked. The boy looked absolutely wrecked, eyes dazed and body shining with sweat and semen and lubricant. Credence closed his eyes, seemingly to gather his strength, and looked back at him.

“Yes,” Credence said hoarsely. “I knew… I could trust you not to hurt me.”

“You're too trusting,” Percival said. He smoothed the hair from Credence's face.

“I know. But without trust… there's no love. Or joy. And to run from joy… I think that would be unforgivable.”

They lay there like that for a while, side by side,  uncertain, knowing things had changed forever.

 

 


End file.
